One Last Thing
by Miss A B Dearheart
Summary: Moist is going home to show the people back there what he has achieved. Meanwhile Adora is having a wonderful time in the Post Office with it's oddball staff. Rating for safety.
1. Going Home

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from the Discworld. Not even one little thing.**

**Just a little something. I don't know where it's going but I'm tired and slightly drunk so anything is possible.**

**Oh and I just found out I'm the same height as a male orang-utan (5'0) and seeing as I haven't grown an inch since I was 13 I don't see any miracles happening now.**

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**ONE LAST THING**

**GoingHome**

There's always something. One last thing we all have to do before we can finally settle down to a life of... well, doing nothing really.

For Moist it was that he had to go back home and show everyone there that he'd made it. All those people who had ever laughed at him, joked about him or made him sit for hours in the boys' locker room shower with a wet towel covering his face. "One move Wigsy and you won't be Moist you'll be Minced."

You wouldn't have thought they'd let girls in the boys' locker room shower but it was a big school and security was lax.

He'd left Ankh in the Post Office's finest carriage with Jim Upwright suitably suited, shaved and scrubbed. Jim wasn't very happy, he'd had to be left in soak for four days and his skin had gone all pruney. Harry had said it made him look distinguished but the smirk had been obvious and no one coughs like that.

Dora hadn't wanted him to go. Who could blame her, there wasn't exactly loads to do in the Post Office. She was five months pregnant and Miss Maccalariat was acting midwife, forbidding her from doing anything, and had taken to directing all her commands at her stomach.

"Oh no Mrs Lipwig, no! Don't you dare attempt all those stairs on your own. You might fall and hurt yourself and we don't want that do we? No, we don't do we? We don't want Mummy falling and hurting herself do we? No no no! You tell Mummy! You tell her! No stairs for Mummy! I'll go and fetch Stanley to help you."

Miss Maccalariat had also insisted that it was "absolutely horrid" and "hideously inappropriate" for Moist to call his new wife Spike. Moist had thought of shortening Adora to Dora which was rather surprisingly accepted by Mrs Lipwig. She even gave him a little smile as he crouched behind his desk and suggested it. Of course "Dora" had given up smoking as soon as she found out she was pregnant, which was partly behind Moist going home to show them all how great he was. A man can only duck so much flying pottery before he starts getting nervous.

As the carriage passed the border into Lipwig Moist noticed that the signpost still had 'Heidi Leiker woz 'ere' carved into it.

"This it then Mr Lipwig?" asked Jim.

"Yup. Nice to see nothing's changed." replied Moist dryly.

Jim drove up to the town's coach house and managed to get stables for the horses and somewhere to keep the coach without hitting anyone. Moist arranged their accommodation as Jim was starting to strain and he didn't want any nasty scenes.

"Haven't you got any family we could stay with Mr Lipwig?" asked Jim twitchily.

"No Jim, sorry. This is the town's finest hotel, what's wrong?"

"Well, that blokes lookin' at me dodgy like, Mr Lipwig." Jim twitched a bit more.

"He's smiling at you Jim, and how many times do I have to tell you to call me Moist?"

"Well, I'd rather not Mr Lipwig, if you don't mind. Oi! That bloke's takin' our bags!"

Moist sighed. "He's a porter Jim, that's what he's supposed to do. Now, lets find our rooms."

"Hey watch where you're goin' matey. You're goin' the right way for a walloppin'!"

"That's a statue Jim." Moist told Jim gently. What he thought was _"Gods I should've brought Dora!_"

* * *

Meanwhile Dora was sitting on the floor in Moist's office picking chunks out of the wallpaper. _"How dare he just take off and leave me here!"_ she was thinking, _"Carrying his child and I just get left behind like some old baggage." _

Just then Miss Maccalariat walked in. "Oh no! Mummy mustn't sit on the floor must she? She'll get a head cold!"

"Miss Maccalariat I'm not sitting on my head!" Dora exclaimed whilst looking for some piece of unbroken pottery. _"I wonder if that desk is liftable..."_, she wondered to herself.

Miss Maccalariat tutted and reached behind herself, grabbing something long and soft. "I've brought Stanley to keep you company Mrs Lipwig. I don't know why you didn't ask Mr Lipwig to take you with him. Surely he won't be gone that long and anyway it might've been nice for Baby to be born in his home country."

"I did ask to go with him Miss Maccalariat. He looked like he was going to jump out of the window."

"Well he was probably trying to duck that vase you were holding dear. Now, Stanley's going to show you his stamps, aren't you Stanley? That'll be nice for you won't it?" On seeing Dora's stricken face she whispered "Oh please let him, he's been ever so good and Mr Groat says he hasn't had a Little Moment in ages. He likes to talk about his stamps and we're all busy."

"Well, can't you sit with him Miss Maccalariat? It is your day off but if you still want to be here then you obviously haven't got much else to do." Dora tried to sound encouraging.

"But I have got something to do dear. I've got to chaperone you two. I'll be in the corner if you need me."

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**And there you go. It might go somewhere, I hope it does. I was going to write more but it's really late now and I have a headache. Please review! Oh by the way, I can't remember for certain if Moist actually comes from a place called Lipwig but I think it says in the book that he does. If he doesn't, for the sake of this story he does now haha!**


	2. Protection Chocolate

**Disclaimer: Did you not read the first chapter? No? Oh OK fair enough. I do not own Discworld. I do however own some garlic bread. Aren't I lucky?**

**Second chapter up quicker than I was expecting. I still have a headache despite lots of sleep and aspirin. But its surprising how much my muse seems to like me having a headache. Damn muse.**

**

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Protection Chocolate**

The following morning Moist and Jim went for a walk around the town. No one seemed to recognise Moist but then he hadn't been home for about thirteen years and he was a bit taller than he used to be. It was quite busy but Jim was in front and people seemed to just bounce off him if they dared try not moving. After a while they clicked on and gave him a wide berth.

Suddenly Moist stopped. "Wait a minute Jim! I used to buy chocolate from this shop when I was younger. I wonder if Mrs Twinkle still runs it. She used to sell wonderful chocolate and I might buy some for Dora."

"What was so different about it Mr Lipwig? As opposed to Ankh chocolate I mean." Jim looked a bit miffed, he was rather opinionated about 'foreign goods'.

"I don't know Jim I never used to get to eat it. It was more for protection really."

It was obvious Jim hadn't the foggiest idea what he was talking about. "What do you mean Mr Lipwig? Ohh... for bribes? Did it ever work? When I was a lad there was one boy used to carry all his small change in his pockets for protection. We used to grab him by the ankles and shake him. It was great all that money tinklin' on the floor."

Moist pulled a pained face. "Er... yes. A similar thing used to happen to me actually."

"What you needed was a big stick Mr Lipwig. We would've thought twice about shakin' Cecil Albright if he'd had a big stick. Oh they was good times though. We used to laugh so hard and he looked so funny just..." Jim trailed off because Moist looked mad. "Sorry Mr Lipwig I didn't think. You do look kind of shakeable though. Sorry."

Moist walked into the shop feeling a bit sick. There was a small old lady behind the counter wearing a traditional Lipwigzian outfit complete with headscarf.

"Mrs Twinkle? Is that you?" Moist asked in Lipwigzian.

"Who's asking? You don't look familiar. You look a bit foreign actually."

"It's Moist von Lipwig. I er... moved away when I was fourteen."

"Oh it's you! We thought you'd disappeared. I see you've brought a bodyguard this time. Good thinking. That Frederick Gothen grew to seven feet tall you know! His width matches it. Must've been all that chocolate he used to eat."

At the mention of Frederick Gothen, Moist shivered. _"All my chocolate he used to eat." _he thought. "No Mrs Twinkle, Jim is a friend of mine from Ankh."

"'Ere Mr Lipwig, can't you talk proper? You're makin' me nervous."

"This is 'proper' Jim it's just in a different language. Mrs Twinkle only speaks Lipwigzian."

"Well I'm gonna wait outside if you don't mind." Jim turned and went out to see if anyone was looking at him funny.

"In fact", Mrs Twinkle continued, "one theory was that young Mr Gothen had eaten _you_! You did disappear pretty quick. What happened?"

"_I ran off because I finally got Frederick Gothen back by swindling him out of 20 Lipmarcks and you could hear him roaring twenty miles away." _What he said was, "I just woke up one morning wanting to see the world and decided to do it while I was young enough to travel half fare Mrs Twinkle."

Mrs Twinkle smiled and nodded at him. "Still, you could've said goodbye lad. Ah well, what do you want to buy?"

"A box of your Valentine Surprise for my wife please and a bag of Nutty Twizzlers for me. Oh and I'll take a big tin of Misshapes for the staff."

"Wife? Staff? What have you been doing?" asked Mrs Twinkle as she got the chocolates down.

"I'm the Post Master in Ankh. I invented stamps."

"Ohh so it's you that did that is it? Well I never would've thought it. Skinny, quiet little Moist actually doing something big. Well Moist if you've come back to show them all how well you've done I'd watch yourself. No matter how old they are they're still bullies dear. And however old _you _are you're still smaller than they are. I think you could've done with two of him out there." The old lady nodded toward Jim who was outside glaring at a tree. "Now I think you'd best go out and take him somewhere before he headbutts that tree again."

"Jim?" Moist approached Jim carefully.

"Oh there you are Mr Lipwig. I got bored." Jim offered as an explanation of why he was attacking a tree.

"Right. Er... Jim... you know this Cecil Albright? Well... if he came back to Ankh now and he was really successful what would you do?"

"Well we'd pound him Mr Lipwig. Pound him flat. And probably shake him a bit too." replied Jim cheerfully.

* * *

Acting Postmaster Groat was wandering around the Post Office with Stanley. "I don't know why he had to go Stanley. Who'd want to leave all this to go home to some place that never wanted you anyway just to tell them you've got all this. Because he hasn't really got all this then has he? All he's got is all that and they don't want him. At least he didn't take the hat though."

"Well Mr Groat", pondered Stanley, "I've often thought of going to see the peas again but that would just be silly now."

"Why's that?"

"Because they're probably in a bag somewhere in Ankhsbury's Mr Groat."

* * *

Dora was looking at a picture of Moist. It was in the paper under the headline 'Post Master Goes on Holiday'. _"Some holiday", _she thought, _"He's going to come back damaged I just know it." _She had to admit she was a bit worried about him, although she'd never tell anyone. He was intelligent but naïve in a way, always thinking everyone was going to like his jolly "look how daft I am" attitude but the truth was it did get annoying. Although if anyone ever said that to her face they'd be suffering from a serious case of being jabbed in the eye.

Just then she was distracted by the sound of Mr Groat and Stanley approaching. She hid in a cupboard.

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**So... chapter two. Feel free to review haha.**


	3. Many Conversations

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. No matter what it may be it ain't mine.**

**Thanks: OK I read in someone else's story that we weren't allowed to do thanks but I can't find it in the terms of service so I'm doing them. If it's just me being blind please let me know and I'll remove this.**

**LandUnderWave: **Thanks for saying it's perfect I feel happy now! I know, I can't either really but I just thought it could be something only Moist can call her. I have a thing for pet names but not baby-talk ones. I'm not making sense now am I?

**Blank Ned: **Thanks, the chapter speed was pure fluke but I'm trying!

**James Jago: **I know, I seem to have a comma aversion in speaking too. I just go on endlessly then suddenly stop. It's very annoying. Thanks for complimenting my comment, I didn't know quite how to put it and it didn't seem to sound right to me! I've tried to put more commas in this one but I'm probably putting them in all the wrong places. I was never good with grammar and my grammar checker is worse than I am!

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**Many Conversations**

"Mr Lipwig... er...", mumbled Jim.

"What's wrong Jim?"

"Are you going to eat _all _that chocolate?"

"No Jim, just the bag I bought for me. Why, do you want a bit? I thought you said you preferred Ankh chocolate." Moist could see the longing look on Jim's face and after what was said earlier he decided to get his own back.

"Well, yeah but there's none around here and I'm hungry."

"Oh well. The shop's only down the street. Go and fetch some if you like." Moist grinned and ate a Nutty Twizzler.

"You know, I was right earlier Mr Lipwig. You definitely look shakeable...", Jim trailed off as he was handed the Twizzlers.

* * *

Meanwhile just around the corner a couple of huge men were speaking in Lipwigzian. 

"Are you sure Fred? He doesn't look very familiar to me."

"I'm sure. I'd never forget that smug face. He did me out of a lot of money."

"It was twenty Marcks Fred. Hardly a fortune."

"Yeah but with inflation and thirteen years of interest it'll be about...", Fred did some very rough calculations, "Five hundred Marcks."

The other man looked puzzled. "How do you get that Fred?"

"Simple maths my dim friend. Anyway, five hundred will be harder for him to get hold of hahaha!"

"Are you saying you're going to... cheat him out of it?"

"No Bilzer, I'm saying I'm going to _beat it _out of _him_!" Fred laughed for a long time. Well, he actually laughed for a short time, it just looked like a long time.

Bilzer grinned at Fred as he wobbled. "It's a good plan. But what about that other one? He's built like... something ...really... big."

"But he's not as big as me is he? I'm going to have so much fun! I bet von Lipwig won't be able to resist coming to tell us all how well he's done. Invented stamps, Mrs Twinkle's son said. Little bits of paper with pretty pictures on!", Fred laughed scornfully, "I'll show him a different kind of stamp!"

* * *

That evening Moist and Jim were in Moist's hotel room. Jim was getting restless. 

"Jim, what in the name of the Gods are you doing to that lamp?"

"Fixin' it Mr Lipwig. No good havin' a broken lamp is it?" Jim spoke without looking up.

"But it isn't broken, it was fine earlier."

"Yeah it was 'til I started fixin' it. Now it needs fixin'." Jim grunted in concentration.

"If you're not careful Jim it'll turn out like a Bloody Stupid Johnson invention and we'll both end up looking like Mr Groat's famous Burnt Pigeon Spectacular." Moist turned green at the thought of Mr Groat's cooking. It wasn't as such cooking really, just Mr Groat waving his socks around until they hit something.

"Can't we go out Mr Lipwig?", Jim begged, "I'm bored!"

"No we can't! I told you what Mrs Twinkle told me! There's a bloody forty stone man after me!" Moist looked like he was going to jump onto the ceiling.

"Mr Lipwig no offence but I'm sure a forty stone man has better things to do than chase around after you. He's probably off somewhere doing something important, like lifting fallen trees off peoples' houses." Jim snorted to himself.

"Frederick Gothen will not be lifting trees off of houses Jim, he's more likely to be pushing said trees onto said houses." Moist was becoming irate.

"Well there you go then. Let's go out." Jim stood up and you didn't really argue with Jim when he was standing up. Moist picked up the lamp and put it back on his bedside table. It fell to bits.

"If they charge me for that Jim I'm not paying."

"Good for you Mr Lipwig. Maybe later we can throw the mini-bar out the window."

* * *

Back in the Post Office Gladys the Golem was polishing the mantelpiece in Moist's office when she/he/it heard a noise from the cupboard. On finding Mrs Lipwig curled up on an old coat the golem made a noise like a disapproving landslide. 

"Mrs Lipvig You Should Not Be Sleeping In The Cupboard." stated Gladys.

"I was hiding from Mr... er... people, Gladys. I must've lost track of time."

"I Will Fetch Stanley To Keep You Company Mrs Lipvig." Gladys grated off in her gingham pinny.

"_I wonder if golems are liftable...", _wondered Dora.

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**Well... chapter three. I don't think it's funny but some bits had to be done.**

**One more thing...sorry if any details are wrong, like languages, places etc. I know how annoying some people find that when they've been fans of something for ages. The thing is I've only really got into Pratchett in the last six or seven months and although I buy his books whenever I can I also have a serious Bowie habit. What I'm trying to say is I don't know much so... I'm sorry if it's annoying. I'm going to bed now.**


	4. Cracking Stuff

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Blank Ned: **Thanks, not many people call my humour 'humour', more 'weird' so I'm flattered you think that! Not so quick this time, my inventive side did a runner.

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Cracking Stuff **

Jim dragged Moist down the hotel stairs and into the nearest pub. It was called The Jar and Pickle for reasons unknown.

"Jim, this really isn't a good idea you know. And let go of my arm, that sort of thing is frowned upon around here." Moist snatched his arm out of Jim's grasp.

"There you go Mr Lipwig, this'll relax you!" Jim offered Moist a tankard of Fanghop Ale, the pub's finest, and bought himself two. "Now, we'll just sit down on this sofa out of the way and no one will bother you." Jim coaxed Moist across the room with a bag of nuts and sat down on a large, well used, leather sofa. As Moist looked around the pub he noticed that everyone had gone silent and all eyes were on them. He gave the bar area a sheepish smile and turned to Jim.

"I think we've done something wrong! They're all staring!" Moist glanced behind him. Heads moved away quickly.

"We're just havin' a little drink Mr Lipwig, don't you worry, they're probably curious. We're strangers, that's all. Me and Harry stare at foreigners all the time back in Ankh-Morpork." Jim soothed, happy now he had a drink in his hand.

Just then one of the men around the bar made to approach them. Before he could get fully off his stool his friend gripped his arm, shaking his head slightly. The man sat down and turned back to the bar.

"Jim did you see that! They're plotting something I just know it. He was going to warn us, I could tell!"

"You should get a job as a fortune teller, Mr L. You'd be great." Fanghop Ale was very strong.

Suddenly the door banged open and several pickpockets who were gathered around it were flattened to the wall. People should know better than to stand in front of doors that open inwards. A large man with a beard walked in with two slightly smaller men behind him. They headed straight to the bar which was suddenly devoid of a queue. Moist saw the man and turned pale.

"Jim! Jim! It's him! It's Fred Gothen! He's here, and he's over there!"

"All at the same time Mr Lipwig? You foreigners are quite talented really aren't you?" As Jim noticed Frederick too he gulped. "Er..."

The human mountain approached them with an angry look on his face. He looked like a soft version of Mr Pump.

"You're on my sofa." the man rumbled, "Get out."

Moist stood up but was pushed back down again by a hand the size of his head.

"Not you, just your dvarf here. I vant to talk to _you_." Frederick growled in bad Morporkish.

Moist turned slightly paler as Jim stood up and looked at Fred. "Now look here you, I'm not a dwarf. No one calls me a dwarf and gets away with it." The two lackeys grabbed an ankle each, pulling Jim over. They dragged him across the floor and into the mens' toilet. "I'll get you, you see if I don't. Don't worry Mr Lipwig, I'll be right out and then..." Jim was cut off as the door closed.

"Now zen Lipvig, I've got a bean to pick viz you." Languages weren't Fred's strong point. He could however say "'Ere, that bloke's lookin' at me funny" in forty different languages and dialects.

"Er... right. Is this about that money? Because I've got it on me, you can have it. If it's not then er... I'll be going..."

"What? No! Let's talk properly Lipwig, you're babbling like a two year old and it's driving me mad!" Gothen's stash of Morporkish had expired.

"That's fine. Sorry. Twenty Marcks was it? Here look, brand new notes and..."

"Twenty? Last I knew it was five hundred." Frederick grinned evilly at Moist.

"Five hundred? B-b-b... where am I supposed to get that much money?" Moist squeaked.

"You invented stamps didn't you? Very clever, I must say. Well if you really can't get the money I suppose I could let you off..."

"That would be very decent of you Frederick, it really would. If you like I could..." Moist felt his head hit the table. "...gff oo th twetty."

Frederick put his shoe on Moist's head. "I can't really afford to let my reputation slip though can I? I'd have people swindling me all over the place." He applied pressure. Moist heard a yell, a crack and a scream. He saw the landlord nonchalantly polishing a bottle, Jim running towards him wearing Klatchian headgear, then black.

* * *

Moist opened his eyes to a blur. Then something glinting... more black, a face. "Why are you wearing a dress Jim?" He blinked again to clear the fog. 

IT'S NOT A DRESS, IT'S A CLOAK. AND MY NAME ISN'T JIM.

In certain situations a blur is a virtue. The face became a skull and Moist let out a high pitched scream. "Is this some kind of joke? What's happening?

YOU'RE DEAD.

"I can't be dead! My wife's pregnant! Oh no, she's going to kill me!" Moist put his head in his hands.

THAT'S A LITTLE REDUNDANT NOW ISN'T IT?

Moist glared at Death. "I suppose you think this is funny?"

NOT AT ALL. WELL, YOU GET A FEW... BUT NORMALLY IT'S QUITE MUNDANE. Death turned away from Moist and started to walk down the beach. FOLLOW ME.

"I don't want to! I want to go home. What's Jim doing instead of making me alive again?" Moist looked around frantically for an escape.

YOU CAN STAY HERE IF YOU LIKE. YOUR FRIEND IS CURRENTLY WRITING A LETTER TO YOUR WIFE TELLING HER YOU'RE DEAD BUT HE DIDN'T DO IT SO SHE'S NOT TO WORRY.

"Hmm, that'll make her feel better."

HAVE YOU GOT INSURANCE?

"What? No, I wasn't intending to die! What kind of question is that?" Moist stood up and began to follow the cloaked figure.

IF YOU HAD INSURANCE SHE COULD HAVE PASSED IT OFF AS AN ACCIDENT AND CLAIMED. THAT WOULD HAVE MADE HER FEEL BETTER.

Moist glared at death angrily. "Thanks for that, I'll remember next time. Note to future self: must get insurance."

GOOD IDEA. YOU'VE GOT A VERY STRANGE NAME THOUGH. ANY IDEA WHERE IT CAME FROM?

"I don't like to talk about it. It's a very sensitive subject. I was teased a lot at school."

I CAN IMAGINE. MY GRANDDAUGHTER SUSAN WAS TEASED TOO, BUT THAT WAS PARTLY MY FAULT, I THINK.

Moist gaped in disbelief. "_You _had _children_? How by Blind Io did _that _work?"

MY DAUGHTER IS ADOPTED. AND AS FOR YOUR NEXT QUESTION YES I WAS ALLOWED TO ADOPT. PEOPLE FIND IT HARD TO SAY NO TO ME FOR SOME REASON.

Moist nodded. "Where does that door go?"

**

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Et voila! Yes I know, badly quoted French, how cliché. Well there's chapter four with a very random ending that was my poor attempt at a cliffy. I'm so bad at them that even I keep looking for the rest of the chapter. **

**And another note about the language: not sure what they speak in Ankh-Morpork and it would take me far too long to find out, sorry. Death's sentences looked better when I typed them because they were formatted differently but the site won't take it so... no matter.**


	5. Ouch

**Disclaimer: I know nothing. Own. Own nothing. Ha.**

**Blank Ned: Aww you say such nice things! Thank you.**

**Adora Bell Dearheart: Sorry. Please read on if you haven't given up on it!**

**

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Ouch **

THAT DOOR LEADS TO YOUR AFTERLIFE. I SEE YOU LIKE CATS A LOT. Said Death, easing the door open.

"Not really, they're OK I suppose. Why are they trampling all over my afterlife?" Moist looked puzzled.

HMM, THIS IS QUITE WORRYING. STILL, IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO STEP INSIDE, JOYCE, I AM SURE WE CAN SORT IT OUT. Death put his skeletal hand on Moist's back to hurry him along. No one likes a job to take longer than it has to.

"Wait… I'm not ready, I… what did you just call me?"

WHAT? JOYCE OF COURSE. ODD NAME FOR A MAN BUT… WHY, WHAT DID YOU THINK I SAID? Death pulled a piece of paper out of his cloak.

"I thought you said Joyce. My name isn't Joyce. Aha! You've got the wrong person!"

YOU'RE NOT JOYCE MOUSTACHE? Death checked the piece of paper.

"Er… no, Joyce is a woman's name. My name is Moist von Lipwig." Moist replied slowly.

WELL THAT'S NOT REALLY MUCH BETTER IS IT? NOW LET ME SEE… Death read down the list. AH! JOYCE MOUS… OH NO.

"What's wrong?"

SOMEWHERE IN ANKH-MORPORK THERE'S A LADY THINKING "OUCH".

"Oh dear! Moist said happily. "Does that mean I'm not dead then? I don't have to go in there with all those cats do I?"

NO. NO, IT'S ALL JUST A TERRIBLE MIX UP. THAT'S THE LAST TIME I EMPLOY A TEMP. YOU CAN GO BACK IF YOU WISH, ALTHOUGH IT MAY BE A LITTLE DIFFICULT FOR YOU TO EXPLAIN.

"That's fine, I'll find a way. Can you send me back now please?" Moist grinned wildly at Death.

YES. THE DOOR IS THAT WAY. AND PLEASE DO NOT GRIN LIKE THAT, YOU WILL DO ME OUT OF A JOB.

Moist walked through the first door and things went black again.

* * *

The world was jerking around in a very loud manner. Every movement and sound sent painful vibrations through Moist's head. He tried to sit up but ended up swallowing what seemed like a sheet. He choked and instantly regretted it when miniature clacks towers started flashing in his head. Then he realised that he could hear someone screaming. It was a high-pitched, utterly terrified, animal scream and Moist vaguely hoped it wasn't himself. He was sure it wasn't, and found he was right when he pushed the sheet away from his face and saw Jim trying to climb out of a coach window. 

"Jim please stop screaming, my head hurts." He pushed himself up on the seat and noticed that things were spinning much faster the higher he got.

Jim flopped away from the window and looked at him. "M… M… Mr Lipwig! You're… er… doin' things dead people don't normally do. You know, talkin' an' stuff."

"Yes Jim, and you're doing things that six foot tall, thuggish looking men _shouldn't _normally do. Trying to force your way through a small window whilst screaming like a little girl for example." Moist would have laughed if his head had let him.

"Sorry Mr Lipwig, but when faced with legions of the undead, even the biggest man can get a bit… disturbed like. Not that it isn't nice to have you back."

"I'm not undead Jim, and I'm certainly not a legion."

"You should've warned me first, that's all." Jim told him reproachfully.

"Right, next time I'll make sure I remember. I could sit up and whisper to you, 'Now Jim, don't be alarmed. In a minute or two I'm going to sit up. And I will choke on this large white sheet in the process. Please do not attempt to exit via the window.'" Moist closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his seat. It had been a long speech for a dead man. "I'll write it in my diary along with the insurance."

"What are you on about Mr Lipwig? Sorry about the sheet anyway, only you didn't have a very nice look on your face."

"Well neither would you if an extremely large man had just put his foot on it. That reminds me, why were you wearing a towel on your head?"

"I would prefer not to answer that question, Mr Lipwig, if it's alright by you." Jim stated with dignity. "We'd best be gettin' back. I wrote Mrs Lipwig a letter but then thought it might be nice if you delivered it yourself. One last journey like."

"How thoughtful Jim. It sort of renders the letter itself pointless though doesn't it? Having my dead body deliver it, I mean."

"I never thought of that Mr Lipwig. Now, you have a nice sleep. We'll be home soon." Jim turned back to the front of the carriage and clicked at the horse.

"Don't you even want to know _why _I'm suddenly alive again?" Moist asked with his eyes still closed.

"No Mr Lipwig," said Jim soothingly, "I don't understand all this spare tool business."

"Spare tools, Jim?"

"You know, death an' angels an' stuff."

"Ah yes." Moist slept and dreamt of celestial hammers.

* * *

Moist drifted in and out of sleep over the next few days. He was vaguely aware of being carried around and occasionally being put somewhere soft and warm. He often heard talking, mostly along the lines of "Charge it to Mr Lipwig, Ankh-Morpork Post Office. Thanks." He forced himself awake when he heard the bustle of Ankh-Morpork and sat up groggily. They pulled into the Post Office carriage yard quietly at Moist's request, but it seemed news had preceded them. Adora was already standing in the yard waiting. She was more noticeably pregnant than she was when Moist left, and he found he was overwhelmingly happy to see her. He opened the carriage door and swung his legs out. He landed on the floor in a heap. 

"What have you been doing to him Jim? Did you get him drunk again?" Adora demanded as she tried to help Moist up. "You know he can't drink as much as you! Why are you home so soon? I thought you were going to be gone months. Moist for crying out loud! At this moment in time I am supporting the entire Lipwig family, will you please stand up straight." She looked at him properly for the first time. "What happened to your head?"

"Don't shout at him Missus, he died." Jim said meekly. Even the Upwright brothers had a way of being meek around Adora. It was just something most intelligent people did. Or at least most intelligent people who wanted to retain their vital organs.

"WHAT?"

"JIM!"

"Oops."

"Moist von Lipwig is this true?"

Moist shuffled his feet. "Er… if I say yes do you promise not to shout? My head still hurts a bit."

Adora took a deep breath. "Alright, I won't shout. Now, how did it happen?"

"A really fat man stood on my head." Moist winced at the memory.

"Right. Can I have the whole story please, or am I to assume you were temporarily keeping your head on the floor?" Adora was managing to stay calm, but it was obviously difficult for her.

Moist told her the story from day one of arriving in Lipwig, making a great deal of the fact he'd bought her some chocolate.

"Jim, while the father of my child was being slowly murdered, where were you?" Adora glared at Jim. "You were meant to be protecting him."

"I was in the toilet Missus."

"With a towel on his head." Moist interrupted.

"In the sink." Jim blushed, an odd occurrence for Jim.

"Why were you in the sink with a towel on your head?"

"I asked the men that an' they just said it was 'cos there weren't any 'shoovers'.

"Showers." Moist corrected him. "They would have meant showers. I should have guessed."

"You won't tell anyone will you? I don't want it gettin' round that's all. I jumped out as soon as I heard Mr Lipwig scream Missus, I swear. An' I pushed that Frederick off his head. Well, I said 'Oi! Get off his head!' and poked him in the arm. Nearly broke my finger." Jim looked at the floor.

"I did not scream!" Moist said, looking defensive.

"You did Mr Lipwig! You shook the windows!"

Adora sighed. "Alright. Jim, go home and… do whatever it is you want to do in an attempt to reclaim your masculinity. Moist, you're going straight to bed and I'm going to send Stanley to fetch a doctor, just in case there's any permanent damage. You're odd enough as it is."

"I don't need a doctor, I just want to sleep." Moist groaned at his wife.

"Yes and how long has he been asleep Jim?"

"Since he came back to life Missus. About a week, on and off. He scared me to death he did. He sat up and made this horrible choking noise, like the one Reg Shoe makes when he's angry."

"Alright Jim, go home. See Moist? It's no good trying to hide things from me. When you're feeling better you can explain to me exactly how you awoke from the dead."

"I'm fine. I feel fine. Just a bit wobbly because I've been sat down so long." Moist sighed and wobbled a bit.

"You look like raw dough. Now stop arguing or I'll get Miss Macalariat to force feed you Mr Groat's Pigeon Pie."

Moist stopped talking immediately.

**

* * *

Well, that's enough now because I'm tired. It's not finished yet, although I have no idea how I'm going to end it yet. But I will say I'm not going to kill Moist off again, this is meant to be funny. She says. **

By the way, when Jim says 'spare tool' he means 'spiritual'. My brother proofread and had no clue what I was on about. So sorry if that bit isn't funny, just that I liked it so it's staying haha.


End file.
